


Sephiroth Week 2020

by OneThousandCuts



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Angst, Human Experimentation, Lovecraftian Shenanigans, Mild Gore, Multi, Sephiroth Appreciation Week 2020, Sephiroth Tifa Implications in "The Ghost"/ Day 6, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneThousandCuts/pseuds/OneThousandCuts
Summary: Ficlets written for Sephiroth Week 2020.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	1. Day 1 Prompt: Specimen; Chapter Title: Grief

Months had passed since Gast had gone missing, had died, and the empty tightness lingered still in Sephiroth's chest. It crept up into his throat; it wove tight wires around his fingers so that his nails carved out small, bloody crescents into his palms. Sometimes, the feeling took hold of and destroyed lab equipment. Once, it had uncoiled from his hands and snapped a technician's wrist. He didn't think before he did these things, and never admitted to them, but Sephiroth found relief in pouring the constrictive pain into anything or anyone else. So long as it left his body, but somehow, it always found a way back into him, filling up the emptiness with burning and reminding him of how alone he was. 

Professor Hojo grew increasingly amused and irate when he finally figured it out. The angrier he was with Sephiroth, the more hilarious he found his telekinetic fits. He didn't try to stop him; he just watched. He watched him sitting motionless but for a darting eye or twitching finger, trashing machinery, mangling surgical tools out of shape, shattering every fragile glass beaker, test tube, and unrated containment chamber within his line of sight. And he laughed that half-suppressed laugh that meant he'd concocted painful exercises for later to figure out how he'd learned such an ability.

All Sephiroth knew was that the power had come to him with the sadness. 

"Do you think your life would be so different if Gast were still with us, hm?" Hojo asked Sephiroth one day when he and his assistants had managed to subdue him, pacing around the examination table where they'd strapped him down. He stopped to motion at the holding cells, computer towers, and sharp, wicked surgical implements surrounding them. "Did you know that he's responsible for all of this? So much of it, all his idea, and yet he abandoned it all in favor of hopeless whimsy. You as well. A fascinating thing, isn't it?"

Sephiroth remained silent, in no small part because of the sedatives, but also because he had no words--nothing that Hojo wouldn't twist against him. It was true that Gast had kept him here and treated him differently too, but he hadn't mocked him. His mind ran over again on how Hojo had left for a week when a rumor started going around about where Gast had gone, but he'd returned alone in the end. Sephiroth knew Hojo had done something to him. He read more violence in him than before, a feeling of accomplishment over the other's death--an obstacle finally removed; not a fellow scientist or a friend lost. 

Sephiroth kept his suspicions to himself, and simply continued listening to Hojo's endless gloating. He went on and on until his technicians entered the room. Eventually, Sephiroth faded.

When he woke, he was uncomfortably slumped up against the curved wall of one of the holding cells used for the stronger inhuman specimens. His side ached where a large bandage had been affixed to conceal a freshly stitched-up incision. He wondered what Hojo might have cut out or put in him this time. A rogue thought drifted through his mind about the last time this had happened, but to the other side. Gast had coaxed him to the operating room with gentle words, and he'd woken up in a bed to assurances that 'things had gone well'--whatever those 'things' were. 

…He'd never bothered explaining. No one did. 

Sephiroth then remembered a conversation he'd overheard between two lab techs. They'd been exchanging photos of their children, and talking about school, friends, and play dates. Not like him--not a never-ending cycle of uncaring or horrified tutors, observation days, and quarterly exploratory surgeries. The tightness that had lived in his chest descended into the pit of his stomach. His ability to read inside people was a newer development, and he'd never gotten the chance to ask Gast why it had to be like this--what made him too different and special to see much of the outside world yet--and he knew Hojo would only dodge the question or lie. Nearly everything he said was half a lie. But Sephiroth knew from the others that wandered near that the first years of his life were all wrong. 

Worse, Hojo hadn't been lying about Gast having started everything, and having intended to keep him here too for a few more years at least.

Sephiroth pulled his knees up to his chest, curling into a ball. He didn't want to think about what that might mean, but the thoughts came anyway. His heart raced, and a tiny whine escaped his dried-out throat. Maybe it was true. No one cared. No one. He was just an interesting thing to them. Like a toy. 

He wanted it all gone. His thoughts overflowed into energy he could almost touch, and he imagined they were long, silvery electric worms. He sent them slithering up into computers and shorted their circuits. Pops and snaps rose from some of the nearby terminals, and the sparks ignited a stack of binders on the desk. Plumbing and exhaust pipes lining the ceiling groaned and split open next, leaking water, steam, and a small amount of mako residue, filling the room with its putrid stench.

At last, a massive crack formed in the thick glass surrounding him from top to bottom, but the structure held. Exhausted, Sephiroth leaned back against the opposite side, trembling. He needed to become stronger than this. Much stronger, so that nothing could hold or control him. So he could get away from here.

The keycard panel near the door blinked green, and Hojo sauntered in and stood before him, ignoring the flaming stack of paperwork at the far end of the room. "I see you've been busy again, Sephiroth… You should know the data I've extracted from this event will determine our next steps with you," he said, holding up a small disc. "After I explained what has been driving up the SRD's equipment costs over budget of late, President Shinra took a renewed interest in you, but ultimately you're my s--ah, hm." Hojo stopped short to chuckle under his breath. "Perhaps my prized specimen will become this company's crowning achievement after all," he hummed, rocking back on his feet slightly. 

Zeroing in on the word Hojo had cut off at first, seeing where it sat unspoken in his mind, Sephiroth froze. So…that's why he was trapped here. He quickly decided it didn't matter, he wouldn't let himself care--though now he wondered if it was Hojo's fault his mother was gone too. More things that, if true, Gast had also kept from him…

Hojo paced back out after one more sidelong glance, muttering only to himself. As the door hissed open, a woman and a small girl dressed in red and pink scurried by, escorted by three infantrymen. He followed after them, and Sephiroth knew that for at least a little while, the man's attention would be split. Those two were toys to him too. Hopefully, they'd keep him occupied long enough that Shinra would order his release before he was due for another operation.

Sephiroth had been able to read at least one thing for certain bouncing around in Hojo's head--that his days living under his thumb were numbered. That's all that mattered.


	2. Day 2 Prompt: Lost; Chapter Title: Traitors

"You will rot."

Genesis had pursued him out of the reactor at first, but afflicted anew with his degradation’s weakness, he’d thought better of it and flown away. How long and how many pains had Sephiroth taken on Genesis' and Angeal's behalf to aid them, refusing to find or kill them himself, attempting to spare them more time? What he hoped it would accomplish, he'd not considered too deeply. He'd entertained and quashed so many vague ideas. It was dangerous to hope, but perhaps they'd find the wisdom to run away. Maybe one day on a mission, or when he'd left Shinra, they'd reunite and work out old misunderstandings. In the end, what they did was up to them, but he'd afforded them a little bit of faith. 

Forcing Shinra to employ lesser talent to hunt them was all he could offer, but he'd given it freely.

He'd been gravely mistaken. 

There now remained no one to whom Sephiroth had pledged his loyalty or friendship who'd failed to turn on him. Angeal's honor and steadfastness, nothing but an empty farce. Genesis' dreams of meaningless heroism, the product of a delusional egomaniacal inferiority complex. Zack was a lost cause; naïve and well meaning for the moment, but his optimism blinded him from understanding the reality of the world under his feet. Sephiroth had no need to spare a thought for anyone else within Shinra, who'd known about the project and betrayed them all for it since conception.

Conception? Had he been naturally conceived? Angeal and Genesis had been granted that simple luxury, but what of him? Was it remotely possible?

Images of the bare-toothed, mako-saturated, spine-skulled monsters remained vivid enough in his mind's eye to block out the mountainous scenery. Palming his forehead, he closed his eyes and saw the name 'JENOVA' emblazoned over the chamber that overlooked their mechanized eggs; a mother presiding over her grotesque brood.

His monstrous mother over her profane cluster, along with him. The reactor's secrets, laid bare in glaring clarity with Genesis' mocking words, had annihilated every hope he'd concocted that she might have been a normal human; just another person who'd at worst made an error in judgement. He'd believed she was no worse than Gillian, and no better--a fool subject to unfortunate circumstances and decisions that would have rendered him akin to Angeal and Genesis. 

A fool he wished he'd had the opportunity to meet, just once…He wondered if he would have loved or resented her; what he might have meant to her. 

But the phase of the Jenova project that produced him had been different. Perfected. Whatever that perfection entailed, Genesis' only concern was benefiting from the vile things that had contributed to Sephiroth's dubious birth, all while condemning him for its nature, taking and taking, caring not one whit in return. Without reflection or irony, he and Angeal had ultimately played out against him the same story Shinra had for all three of them--building up a world of easily-shattered lies, demanding more than he could give, and discarding him soon thereafter.

Now that Sephiroth was aware, he knew that Shinra would eventually seek to contain him as well. Who would they send? What protocols did the SRD have in store to put him down? Where should he go from here, and what should he do?

His former life was already gone.

Nibelheim's bitter wind answered him, lifting his hair from his shoulders and clearing his face, striking his cheeks and stinging his eyes. He averted his gaze downward to the town far below, where street lamps flickered to life, illuminating the cobblestone trail that led from the entrance to the gates of Shinra Manor.

His future--everything--now hinged on what he was.

Shinra's intentions were irrelevant: He was finished with the company, and they would not be able to defy him. They could restrain him no longer. The whole truth of his existence was hidden here, and all that remained was to reach out and take that which had been stolen and concealed from him.

What he'd do afterward remained to be seen, but Angeal and Genesis had never been his kindred, and would never share in the same fate. He saw that now.

As it ever was, he had none but himself.

But they--those false companions-- 

They were traitors.


	3. Day 3 Prompt: Uniforms; Chapter Title: Tactile

"Demon," President Shinra announced incredulously, slapping the Wutaian-language news publication down onto his desk. He settled into his chair holding an unlit cigar between his teeth. "This is a smearing portrayal of a valuable company asset."

Tseng stood at attention on the opposite side. Heideggar had reclined into a chair, resisting the urge to guffaw at the headlines, which read in full, " _ **Shinra Boy-Demon Slaughters Advance Crescent Platoon.**_ " Hojo leaned against the wall off to the group's right.

"The Turks will investigate the slums for the publishers and ensure a meaningful understanding is reached, Sir," Tseng offered.

"Acceptable first steps for mitigation," Shinra replied, "but this rag made it topside. It's probably spreading outside Midgar. We need rapid counter-programming, and I want to know if Avalanche is involved. Wutai was always going to have an adverse reaction to losing, but no one else should be questioning that Shinra is acting in their best interests."

"Gyahahah! That kid's a hero if you ask me," Heideggar said. "You know how many infantry I'd have had to send into the meat grinder without him? Those boys got to go home and kiss their mommas one more time. Hardly had to fire a shot thanks to Sephiroth."

Shinra lit his cigar and puffed out a few smoky rings. "Sephiroth, celebrated war hero. We can sell that. We'll publish our own account and promote fanfare. Adjust his age to sixteen for the official story, and make sure no one says any different. Set up scripted media interviews with the cadets who came home early. They were proud to serve, would have done whatever it took, but they're happy to be back. If there are any eyewitnesses, it's all glory, minimal carnage. Sephiroth's an unmatched prodigy and they want to be like him. Let's turn this debacle around into a recruiting boost."

"Yessir," Heideggar barked. "By the time my guys are done, we’ll have their girlfriends calling the wrong name at night."

"…Right. Professor, prep Sephiroth for a dress uniform photo-shoot tomorrow morning. One of my assistants will meet with him and the camera crew to determine designer uniform options. "

Hojo lightly cackled and pushed up his glasses. "Very well, but I may need to sedate him…Sephiroth's enhanced mako regimen has given rise to certain uncompromising tactile sensibilities."

Shinra shook his head. "Work around that. The public needs to meet a sharp, lucid face, not a specimen."

"Hm..suit yourself," Hojo replied.

\--------------

Sephiroth had originally been scheduled for a battery of mental exercises this morning, but this photo-shoot had usurped it at the last minute. Attempting to sleep had become unpleasant after returning from Wutai, though he'd been reassured it was a common occurrence treatment would resolve. Shouldn't that take priority? Pictures were usually for the lab, but he'd only been offered a hurried explanation that this was supposed to mark his first war victory.

He frowned at the crisp, starched blue button up and matching jacket that hung in the dressing room with him. Unfamiliar medals and pins adorned the jacket's left breast, and its shoulders were inlaid with a circle of silver stars. This was not the military's standard issue uniform for anyone, even higher ranking officers. If a change was coming to their design, there were simulations and hired models. Why were these untested clothes necessary to convey his performance in the war?

The short, quick-spoken woman outside the door who'd introduced herself as President Shinra's assistant had instructed him to put the button up on over the low, v-cut white undershirt he normally wore from day to day, and to wear the jacket over that. It was too much. Layers were claustrophobic for him, and anything that sat too close to the front of his neck gave an impression of being strangled. He sat down on the bench and pressed himself into the corner, hesitating. The idea of being so covered, and in all the wrong spots, made the room feel smaller and hotter the more he considered it.

"Need help adjusting anything in there, kid?" the assistant asked after several long moments.

"No. I…these aren't suited for me," he responded, struggling to keep calm, hoping that excuse would suffice.

"Ah. Well, the President did say we might need to try a few things to make it work. Let's see…You know, let's cut the crap and just go for the prototype special ops one. It's functional, so you'll be literally dressed to kill!" she laughed.

Sephiroth didn't know what to say to that--he required only selective armor to battle effectively--so he waited in awkward silence as Shinra's assistant rummaged through boxes and plastic wrappings around assorted articles. First, a pair of black leather pants swooped over top of the door. Inspecting them, he felt that the inside was softer than the outside, and cool to the touch. A matching coat, a black turtleneck sweatshirt, and a set of pauldrons followed.

He clenched one hand at the sight of the turtleneck. It was obviously an outfit meant for missions under cover of darkness--an improvement from the dress blues in terms of what he was accustomed to--but the shirt made it impossible. He opened his mouth to protest again, and then shut it. Complaining over physical discomforts didn't have a history of aiding his situation, but he could attempt a compromise. He was able to negotiate his field uniform without too many questions in Wutai because of how he fought.

The pants, he found, were perfectly fitted and allowed for flexible motion--acceptable. That was once piece down he would wear. Shoving one arm into the coat, he quickly recoiled and pulled it back out again. It created an unwanted layer with his t-shirt along his back, giving him the sense that someone was pushing on him. Sephiroth let out an exasperated sigh, and pulled his shirt over his head, hanging it up on the door's hook with the turtleneck.

Trying the coat again, his nerves instantly settled. He'd have to work on moving with the long, draping material around his legs when he trained, but other than that, it felt right on his torso by itself. The collar was unusually high, but it left the front of his neck completely bare--inoffensive enough, and he could use the pauldrons to raise or flatten it as needed. He finished dressing and opened the door.

"We got a winner?" the assistant asked, turning around to face him. "Oh whoops, looks like you missed the shirt."

Sephiroth pouted. He'd missed absolutely nothing, and he'd continue not missing it.

"I…see. It doesn't look bad…Just...just let me check if this will work for the shoot." She left the room to make a call, but Sephiroth could still hear her-- "Sir? Yeah, mostly. Oh, is he? Oh. That would have been useful to know beforehand. We did find something he's comfortable with pretty quick--the ops set--but he's bare-chested aside from the harness. Go ahead? Alright." Hanging up, she added, "Your funeral, boss. Your funeral." She poked her head back in, "Grab your things, kid. No makeup for that baby face, but we'll have to do something about your hair before we get this over with."

"Will I be keeping these?" Sephiroth inquired.

"That's up to Shinra. If it plays well, count on it."


	4. Day 4 Prompt: Free Day (Home); Chapter Title: Hometown

Nibelheim stood as one of the more strategically isolated locations on the planet, tucked away in the embrace of its namesake mountains. Only the expanse of mostly uninhabited flatlands to the southwest served as a reliable outlet. Silent as it stood, it seemed almost abandoned--exactly the variety of locale Sephiroth would expect Shinra's failed industrial secrets to disturb the wildlife.

But people did live here, and those secrets were of the utmost sensitivity, rating his presence specifically.

Rainy hours had passed in the truck crossing the plains to reach to the secluded town--time spent mulling over his uncertain future, humoring Zack's excitement, and attempting to ignore the occasional retching coming from the motion-sick cadet, Cloud, who the former had befriended. Apparently, Nibelheim was Cloud's hometown.

The concept of a hometown pricked at Sephiroth's mind, raising curiosity and a heavier feeling he couldn't name. Growing up stationary in one community, with the same family, neighbors, friends, and foes--he understood it only conceptually. Some supposedly longed for it; others considered it a prison they couldn't wait to escape. The best he could do was tangentially identify with the latter, but…where he grew up lacked any sense of having been a home or place of origin. It was merely where he was made to exist and become what he was raised to be.

As they'd closed in, one of the area's green dragons had accosted them during the heaviest downpour, granting a temporary reprieve from that troubled line of thinking. The beast's aggression and extra-territorial wandering were no doubt a result of the local reactor's malfunction. He'd cut it down it quickly nonetheless; there was little time to waste.

His discomfort returned immediately upon their arrival. He'd never stepped foot in Nibelheim before, but one glimpse down the dusty, half broken road at the town's well, and a whiff of the earthy, chilled October dusk gave Sephiroth pause. The pungent mako smell veiled it, but it remained a familiar enough undertone to stop him at the entrance. Creeping dread descended into the pit of his stomach, though there was no reason for it he could pinpoint. His objectives here promised few foreseeable complications--he was to thin the monster population and perform triage on the reactor's problem until a security-cleared crew could be dispatched. He'd traveled to numerous like-places in the past. Perhaps that was why he recognized the scent.

Why had it caught his attention and unsettled him this time?

Words playing on the fringes of his mind escaped him seemingly of their own will: "How does it feel? It's your first time back to your hometown in a long time, right? So how does it feel? I wouldn't know because I don't have a hometown…"

Cloud lifted his mask and helmet for a moment. His voice trembled slightly when he spoke. "Ummm…how 'bout your parents?"

Sephiroth clenched one hand. Outside of muted professional consideration, Cloud's life was none of his concern, nor vice-versa, but it was too late to evade in full. He had brought this upon himself. "My mother is Jenova. She died right after she gave birth to me. My father…" A laugh leapt up from bitter apprehension roiling inside of him, and he shook his head. This subject was entirely too absurd to pursue any further; a scandal unworthy of his acknowledging it publicly. Yet…there was no way Cloud would know that. "What does it matter...?" he excused himself. "All right, let's go."

They marched ahead to the inn, outside of which a nervous young local caught up with Zack and verified who they were. Her shoulders slouched after he'd informed her. She left visibly disappointed, as if they were beneath her expectations. Perhaps Shinra had earned some enemies here as well. Monsters, malfunctions…and now, possibly insurgents or other resistance factors. The human element had not been part of the briefing he'd received, but it wasn't surprising. Shinra had polluted their natural environment and filled it with monsters. When it had finally spiraled sufficiently out of control, they gave no answer but to send SOLDIER. If it was there, the anger wasn't misplaced.

Considering how Shinra had propagandized his image, Sephiroth wondered if the townsfolk might associate his face with those ills. It would be difficult to disassociate himself from the company in the eyes of normal people if he chose to leave, but if he were pushed to counter unexpected fighters, it would make the effort all the more difficult. 

Normal people. He breathed out a small sigh and cast a wandering gaze, taking in the sights of the town's empty center and the houses beyond. Was it possible for him to seek out a quiet life in a place such as this?

While he looked on, a small child of maybe five years scrambled out the front door of a house off to the right, chortling mischievously. A woman--his mother--ran after him.

"Hey, get back here! You know it's too dangerous," she chided him. "What have we talked about for when the big weird uniformed men come?"

"But. They're just standing there. There's no monners. See? They're just standing there," he argued, mispronouncing 'monsters' in child-speak and repeating himself, distrusting that his mother had accurately assessed the situation.

The mother remained predictably unconvinced, grabbing the boy by his wrist and pulling him back toward their home while he continued to ramble, and eventually, started to cry.

Under their neighbor's porch, two boys chattered quietly. Their eyes dodged his, but he knew they'd been watching him. Were they brothers or friends? What was that like? Inwardly, Sephiroth winced--he thought he'd come to understand one of those rather well until recently.

What was it like to leave a place like this for years, and then return to expectant family?

The dread that had plagued him moments ago redoubled its efforts on his insides, but Sephiroth straightened his stance. There was no time for that. Not for him. He was…outside of such things. Unwelcomed. All of this--it was not his world…

"We leave for the reactor at dawn. Make sure you get to sleep early." he commanded Zack, Cloud, and the others with them. It was best to keep them out of sight to avoid exacerbating tensions. "All we need is one lookout, so you others, get some rest." He turned his back on the town and reached for the inn's door, but stopped. Cloud was notably not an outsider by any definition. Sephiroth forced himself to swallow the ball of resentment that had formed in his throat and glanced over at the small cadet. "Oh, that's right...You may visit your family and friends."

This had nothing to do with him. Nothing.

He slipped indoors then, hurrying upstairs before anyone noticed him. Zack could take care of any arrangements with the front desk. He needed a moment to think, and think he did, staring out the second floor's window. It wasn't simply that Nibelheim smelled familiar; the scenery was far from alien to him as well. He knew these mountains, these buildings, the well in the town center. He knew the Shinra Manor, he knew what he might expect to see if he visited it, and---and he stopped himself, overcome with the notion of having trespassed somewhere forbidden.

_He was in trouble again, and here again..._

For a split second, he remembered being small and having infuriated Professor Hojo over…something. Yes, there had always been something with that man…

But why did he know this place? What claim did Nibelheim have on him, all while he couldn’t pretend to call a single sliver from one of its houses or a tiny speck of its streets' dust his? He was a stranger here, but it remembered him. As the sun faded behind its peak, he had the uncomfortable growing sensation that Mt. Nibel itself was looking back, calling…

Tomorrow, Sephiroth determined, they would complete this mission with the utmost efficiency. There might be something to research here, but he needed time to prepare. He needed to understand the nature of long term operations Shinra had conducted in Nibelheim first; what he ought to look for in particular. He suspected with an almost oppressive conviction that whatever he turned up would be the final straw he was searching for--the one that justified his leaving the company.

After that...nothing would be the same.


	5. Day 5 Prompt: Addiction; Chapter Title: The Opiate Descendent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An informal prequel to 'The Ascendant'

The third time Cloud sent him into the Lifestream, Sephiroth lingered and watched. Silently, not betraying a thought to the fragmented spirits roaming about him, he seethed, retaining his fury against Cloud, keeping himself. Though disembodied, he remained otherwise whole and constructed a barrier so that the stream could no more erode him. It rushed by and over him as if around a glass encasement, but he had made himself impervious to the planet's will. It could not reach him.

He longed once more to avenge himself. He craved for Cloud's abject humiliation and brokenness. Time and again, he'd slaked his thirst for that vengeance, basking in the other man's torment so thoroughly that his true objective had become distant. He could indeed take this planet, consume its Lifestream, and begin his journey, but not before Cloud had breathed his last.

Sephiroth soaked in the idea for an indeterminable time: His ascent was always within reach, but it would inevitably require Cloud to end, as with all other life on the planet destined to join with him. Yet he was loathe to lose the object of his rage. Shattering Cloud's body and mind had become an opiate for his own--an opiate for defeat that could only be found in more defeat. It was a cyclical deception, and one he would no longer permit.

He could feel the planet's vigilance over him, waiting to counter him if he broke out of his hibernating construct. Sephiroth defied it, feigning contentment to dream of the future he'd once hoped to shape. He let himself become as a rock, unmoving at the bottom of the great river, biding his time.

Soon, the planet would give him an opening. He could sense that a new crisis not of his doing was emerging; some of the humans had conspired to manipulate the planet into recycling its own life, but he believed their plans would fail.

It was small at first when it came to pass: clusters of souls untouched by his Mother's legacy returned to the planet, grief-stricken at their untimely demise. But what started as incidental dregs became a lamenting deluge. The planet cried out for its end, turned away from its vigil over him and fled. It emptied its Lifestream into an vessel of its own making--the Weapon Omega--drawing him along, though he remained separate within it.

For a short time, he considered how he might overtake the Weapon and overthrow its Deepground pilot--Sephiroth would not tolerate another to execute a design so closely mirroring his own--but it fell as quickly as it had risen, depositing the stream back into the planet before it could be fully sapped.

…As he'd expected.

Drifting anew, Sephiroth found the familiar thrums and whispers surrounding him subdued in shock. Gradually, he shed his barrier, and discovered the energy no longer try to dissolve him; instead, it provided him a wide berth. No eyes affixed to him, and no voice dared to confront him.

He stretched his consciousness to search the world, and located Cloud and his allies, confirming they were the ones responsible for returning the Lifestream to the planet's husk. He wondered how many planet rescues they had left; how long before they exhausted their will to fight.

From there, he wandered until he'd scaled every mountain peak; combed every river bed, and saw that no Weapons or ancient creatures remained. Omega's false provocation and destruction had substantially weakened the planet and exhausted the last of its defenses.

The time had come.

Sephiroth descended into an abyssal place where the Lifestream was sparse, and summoned forth the earliest memories he'd abandoned. With little resistance, the river returned them to him. They coalesced into the form of a child; a detached and empty piece of himself that awaited his command. He assigned his new scion a name and a mission different from what he'd given those who'd come before--to infiltrate and subvert Cloud's allies. Their care for children and the infirm, even if fashioned in his image, would cause them to betray themselves.

A little while longer passed, during which he resumed roaming the stream as before, tainting and turning the souls with his stigma. The living had achieved a fear-wracked peace on the surface; a fragile calm present that relentlessly dwelled upon their mortified past and consumed their hearts with worry for what might come to destroy it. Every human was but a reminder to another of the darkness, and resentment and strife took hold. They were afraid to die, and so to death he would deliver them.

They spoke his name, and in their imagined terror, began to gather Mother's remains together in frozen containment. Among those ignorantly fomenting his reunion was Cloud, racing to the lab in the dead of night.

His time was now.

Sephiroth projected his spirit just off the crossroad Cloud was fast approaching. So near, those of Mother's cells that inhabited the man's body awoke. He motioned slightly to the left, and then to the right, and Cloud's bike swerved in time with his hands. Though long left unmanipulated, the old puppet strings responded with unwavering faithfulness.

His boy-scion stepped into the street as if cued, and Cloud crashed to avoid running him down.

Sephiroth considered Cloud as he carefully maneuvered to recover and inspect the damage. As a spirit, there were numerous methods which he could employ break and twist him. He could send him home to Tifa a hobbling, slurring shell of the man who'd left their home earlier that day with no idea of what had come for him, terrorizing his friends by proxy. He could haunt and stalk him afterward, never letting him rest, repaying the times he'd defeated him one hundred fold, year upon year, wearing him down until his life force simply…collapsed.

Tempting though it was to continue on that path, Sephiroth demurred. Cloud was an obstacle in his journey destined for annihilation, and he would ensure his last thoughts enlightened him as to his true role.

Striding forward, resolute, he hefted Cloud up from the pavement and held him aloft. His legs kicked helplessly while a thin layer of frost formed on his exposed skin. Sephiroth delivered icy shocks of energy into his spine, radiating pain into his extremities, violating every untouched nerve. He smirked up at him, willing Cloud to know the identity of the unseen force assailing him. To know that all he'd hoped to protect was bared to him now.

To break, _break_ , once and for all, irrevocable and absolute.

With a final, throaty growl, he catapulted Cloud into a mangled light pole, impaling him on a protruding metal spike.

Sephiroth stood back then to admire his handiwork. To watch Cloud claw for purchase where there remained no solid ground, knowing that help wasn't coming this time. Nothing was going to save him at the last second. It was always going to end this way.

He imagined that his meteor had damaged the pole, and took pleasure that he'd still provided himself with the means, however rugged, which would ultimately deliver Cloud to the Lifestream. On it, he dangled and convulsed, eyes rolling back into his head. He coughed and gagged, struggling for his final breaths. Tears leaked from his eyes at last, and he summoned one final burst of strength to push himself off.

Cloud crumpled back down onto the pavement, a pile instead of a person, gave a few more wet, strangled gasps, and a name: "Tifa…"

The as-yet empty-minded boy Sephiroth had created crept back out into the open and gazed up at him in wonderment. "Tifa?" he repeated.

A brief moment of silence passed between them. Crickets chirped in the distance, indifferent to all that had transpired.

"Perhaps…" Sephiroth mused, and returned--willfully this time--to the planet to await the preparation of his final Reunion.


	6. Day 6 Prompt: Otherworldly; Chapter Title: The Ghost

Late at night, when Cloud was fast asleep, Tifa roamed downstairs to sit up at the closed bar.

Years had passed since the planet's last emergency, and life grinded on. Rebuilding progress was moving along, for once without interruption. Problems with the world were limited to those that everyday people made for themselves--even the sociopolitical and environmental fronts were blissfully quiet. Shinra remained in retreat as far as its old corporate interests were concerned. Mako usage was extremely limited and would soon be phased out entirely. No disturbances had presented in the Lifestream since Omega.

Even Cloud had found a fair measure of mental serenity, and Seventh Heaven had become a household name in their neighborhood. For most intents and purposes, everything was copacetic.

But sometimes, none of that mattered, because all of the peace, quiet, and prosperity in the world could safely guarantee that _he'd_ never return. The dead stagnated sometimes; spirits roamed before the planet could finally claim them. But they were limited as to how far they could wander and were supposed to stay dead.

His influence didn't care for any kind of physical or spiritual borders. Death had twice failed to hold him, and on nights like this, her gut just wouldn't let her forget it. It demanded, irresistibly, to be heard.

Tifa remembered his ravings back when they'd journeyed to the Temple of the Ancients. He'd wanted to join with the planet and become a god--a ludicrous idea; even if he managed to obtain unreal levels of strength, it's not as if he could achieve omnipotence or immortality. That they'd defeated him proved that…until it didn't. He came back, and she'd watched as he'd directed a corrupted mass of the Lifestream with a wave of his hand. When Cloud had defeated him again, he'd simply dispersed.

How long before he broke the natural order of things again, and found another way to make a body? Not even Aerith's presence in the Lifestream had kept him from returning last time. She'd helped everyone, of course. Cloud and a lot of the kids would have broken and died if she hadn't. But the man who wanted to consume the planet seemed to have more control over how it acted. 

She rested her elbows on the counter and buried her face in her hands.

In the dark of her palms, two slit-pupiled, mako-green eyes stared back at her. She rolled her fingers inward to form tight fists, and the image disintegrated from her mind. Her wrist ached where he'd held her up before cutting her down back in Nibelheim. And her left ankle throbbed--the spot of a secret she'd never told. It was so mild in her, but Cloud hadn't been the only one to contract Geostigma. Hers had appeared late in the outbreak, and at worst, it had itched like a severe case of athlete's foot. She'd dipped her foot in Aerith's pool at the church when the others were distracted, and it was water under the bridge.

At least…it should have been.

What Cloud didn't know couldn't hurt him. He'd always had too much to worry about; she didn’t need to add to it. Not then, and not now.

Quietly, she crept back behind the bar, and unlocked a small, hidden drawer. In it, pages upon pages of hand-written text were neatly stashed in order of the date she'd written them. Or rather, in the order her hand had transcribed them, though she never remembered doing so. Eventually, she'd have to say something, but she was waiting for the writings to tell her when, if ever. She was sure he was just using her to bait Cloud.

Tifa grabbed a pen and a few blank sheets, made her way back to her stool, and waited. The clock over the tiers of liquor bottles slowly ticked by the seconds while she listened to her breathing turn shallow. Her eyes grew heavy. She was tempted to put her head down and sleep, or just go back upstairs. She thought about the latter very hard; about the exact motions her body would have to make to stand up and climb to bed. The best she could pull off was making a toe twitch.

She was to wait, and then she'd write--as always, and not a moment before he wanted her to.

Nearly a full hour had passed trapped in her catatonic state before she felt her motor functions return. She'd lost the time, but at some point, the pen had made its way into her left hand, and the page before her was filled. Off to one side, a half-emptied glass of ice water that she'd never filled or drank stood on a coaster she'd not taken out. Cold and quaking, she swapped the pen back into her right, and dated the page. She'd wait until later, when it was daylight and Cloud was out making deliveries, to read it.

It wasn't safe right after. It wasn't safe at all, but she had a hunch something awful would happen if she took it in too soon.

"You're nothing but a coward, Sephiroth," she rasped into the darkness. "If you were a god, you wouldn't need to hijack someone else's body when no one else was looking to write your little fairy tales."

All ambient noise ceased in response. The air grew tight, nothing constricting painfully in on itself until the entire room tremored. Her water glass formed innumerable little cracks but didn't shatter.

A pressure rested on her shoulder, and Tifa glanced down to see black-gloved fingertips.

"Patience, Tifa," he said-- _and it was him--_ mere inches from her ear.

She whipped around with a gasp, swatting at the spot as if she'd seen a spider, but her fingers met only with her own clothes and skin. Panting, scanning the room, she found she was just as alone as she'd been when she'd first come down. She then looked back at the paper and glass.

The page was full, but the glass was whole. There was no evidence it had fractured even a little.

Out the bar's front window in her periphery, she noticed that the sun was coming up. Day was breaking on a fully functional world with no reason to think things could soon go so far south again.

Tifa covered her mouth and quietly cried. Was this for real, or was she simply so afraid of it being real that she was acting it out? Whatever was happening in here with her every few nights was completely incongruous with anything else going on out there.

She needed to know more before she asked for help--before she even knew what kind of help she needed.

She would wait, and she would continue to write.


	7. Day 7 Prompt: Rebirth; Chapter Title: Assimilation

_"Let me give you one last piece of advice, Ancient. No matter what you do, it's futile. It's all part of this Planet's system. Many foreign entities from the skies fall into the Planet's life cycle unknowingly and now Jenova’s in there. So where does its soul go? Even if you try to destroy it, it will never disappear. It has merged with the Sea of Mako, drifting through every part of the Planet through the Lifestream. One day, you will all have to live as part of Jenova. Hahaha... It's only a matter of how soon that will happen."--_ **Professor Hojo to Aerith, 'Maiden Who Travels the Planet'**

~~~~

_**Spring** _

The planet's personality was changing. Spring brought forth flora in vibrant, unnatural colors--purple spiny fronds where long, gentle gold and green waves used to grow. Giantism emerged in some of the smaller creatures. A house kitten born the previous winter might be confused with one of the big, feral carnivores, because that's what it had become. Chocobo teeth were novelty for country fairs, once their keepers learned how not to get bitten. And, incidentally, once they figured out that the birds no longer craved greens. A herding dog or two was lost to that discovery.

Although the change brought fear, for the most part, people learned to live with it. Smaller villages put up fences. Hunting became a popular pastime once more, granting some of the elderly a renewed sense of purpose as they trained their grandchildren. Cuisine and medicine transformed by leaps and bounds. At times it was a struggle, but adaptation allowed everyone to continue living their normal lives for the most part.

What had brought on this change? What had so influenced the planet's idea of itself? Most--from the subsistence farmer to the W.R.O. expert reporting directly to Reeve Tuesti--believed that it was simply the growing pains of a world that had been through way too much in too little time. Jokes of planetary puberty abounded.

No one could say for sure, but there was also no evidence to the contrary. Wily though the world was, there seemed to be no deliberate villainy afoot, and the last Mako reactor had been disabled years ago.

\----------------------

_**Summer** _

They were once members of Shinra-endorsed fanclub called the Silver Elite, which also served as an arm of the old company's propaganda efforts. Although long since disbanded, many remained friends, and they journeyed together to Icicle Inn that Summer to get away from the abnormal heat that had cloaked much of the world, binding it into one shared season. It was unusually warm here as well, but pleasantly so.

Under a full moon they gathered around a fire, black-cloaked and nervous. All at once, they'd felt the urge--no, the _need_ \-- to dress that way. It was comfortable, they said to one another, but they couldn't define it any further than that, and they didn't try to. A hush fell over them. One woman began to hum a directionless, unknown tune. Two more joined in with her. Then, all together, they somehow achieved a perfect, united harmony.

_"Do you remember Sephiroth?"_ one of them spoke when they'd ended the mysterious song.

There was laughter at first. Of course everyone remembered. The only reason most of them knew one another was because Shinra had convinced them to lust after its prided SOLDIER. Not that much convincing had been needed--the man had been a living masterpiece.

_"But he was more…he became more than that, didn't he?"_ the eldest voiced. There was something desperate and pleading in her tone, as if she was trying to remember part of the doctored tales they'd all been fed that perhaps wasn't so made up.

_"If Chairwoman H was right…maybe?"_

_"Whatever became of her? Did anyone ever actually meet her? Who was she?"_

_"Probably just another company shill."_

Another long, drawn out silence descended over the group. The fire snapped and crackled, and a chilly wind blew down from the Great Glacier--a rapid-melting mass that was said to have flooded the ancient ruins nearby. Small runoff streams had turned to pregnant, raging rivers. There was one they could all hear nearby, roaring as it raced out to the ocean.

_"He's alive. I can feel it. We were lied to."_

_"He can't die. Not truly. He will always return."_

Fearful glances rounded the flames. Some nature of spell had come over all of them; something far more potent than raving, pop culture-promoted thirst. What had started as a get away to remember the bad old days had turned to an impromptu cultish conclave, though not one believed they were making anything up. The words and tunes and rhythms surged through them from without--something magical and terrible.

There was no time to think twice. They had heard the call, and they'd all obeyed. What more was left to them?

_"The Crisis and Solution, beginning to end to beginning again. Become now the cycle and the meaning, the life and the death, in aeternum, forever and ever,"_ raised up an overlapping chant.

There was weeping. There was trembling. They all shouted the name. And they all threw themselves into the fire.

\----------------------

_**Autumn** _

When Fall arrived, it brought with it dying, pretty leaves and a stilted harvest time--the world had not yet adjusted to living the same season all at once. Supply chains were strained, but attitudes remained upbeat. The planet was healing, everyone agreed. They had to follow its lead so that it could complete the process. For all humanity had taken, a little sacrifice for a couple of years was a small price to pay to be able to witness the planet at full strength--something only the Ancients would have last seen. To live in such a time was a privilege.

And that remained the message, even as Rufus Shinra, his Turks and W.R.O. operatives in Midgar and Junon convened over video calls in darkest hours before dawn. It had now become mercilessly clear that the planet was not acting on its own.

"Yes, degradation, like SOLDIER," Tseng confirmed. "It was first observed in the Junon area forests."

"Which life forms appear to be affected? Is it a danger to humans yet?" Reeve asked.

"Everything our people have tested has come up positive, including crops and cattle. Anything that eats has it," Rufus broke in.

Reeve crossed one leg over the other, wiped his brow, and loosened his collar. "But degradation comes directly from…" He couldn't bring himself to finish.

"Jenova cells. The late Professor Hojo's Reunion theories never accounted for something of this scale, however," Tseng supplied.

"Reunion suggests a gathering together of infected organisms. This is just…it's a take over!" Reeve exclaimed. "How do we stop it?"

Eyes darted between one another. Heads bowed. Of course, there was no stopping it now. It was something that, if they'd not been distracted with everything else over the past several years--Sephiroth's second coming, Deepground and Omega, and the sheer labor expenditure it took to try to keep society stable and rebuilding through those setbacks--should have been researched and addressed immediately following Meteorfall.

But no one knew enough. No one even knew to ask if there could be such all-consuming consequences for the SRD's environmental failures like this. It was beyond imagining.

"We don't. We stay the course," Rufus finally answered.

"Accept that adaptation is necessary, and everyone has to do their part to live with it…" Reeve said, defeated.

\----------------------

_**Winter** _

Sephiroth opened his eyes. He could sense that a frigid cold had overtaken the surface world in its entirety. Mother's essence had at last permeated all things, causing the ecosystems to assimilate and the seasons to act as one. All plant life had returned its energy to the planet, and there its cycle had ended with him; one with him. He was the new living thing they were all to become.

The planet itself was a second skin for him now, one that he was gradually peeling back with each new death.

All fauna was at his fingertips to do with as he pleased--he needed only reach out. Whales, bloated and transformed beyond their bodies' functioning, beached themselves. Fish devoured one another in a feeding frenzy, each one poisoning the other. Bears that would have hibernated crawled out restless from their dens, fierce and hungry. They waded up streams to feed, restrained to the instinct that would have prepared them for the Winter months, freezing to death overly-gorged. House pets turned on their keepers, content to feed on the hands that had faithfully provided for them.

Spirit energy surged and surged into the planet's core, into him. He was rising, becoming…

Bleak despair shrouded the humans' domains as the months crept onward, and Spring failed to arrive again because he did not ordain it so. Some of them killed themselves; others relished blame and murder. Most of the time, they were inspiration enough for themselves, but that did not stop Sephiroth from amusing himself, pushing where hesitation plagued them. Riots and mini wars broke out.

A select few names, he withheld from the end until the very last. Cloud, Tifa, Nanaki, Vincent, Cid, Barret, Reeve, along with some who remained with Shinra were to see the world in its total desolation.

When that day came, he drew them together at the ocean's crimson-dyed shore and announced his presence in their minds. Yes, it was him all along. He had done this, and they'd accomplished nothing but to watch and wait. They'd allowed him to infect all things, and for a time, had taken joy in it. Now, all that was left of the surface was them, the corpse-littered ice-encrusted landscape, and its bloody waters.

As one, they fell to their knees, and he placed a weak, breathy proclamation on their frost-bitten lips-- _"The Crisis and Solution, beginning to end to beginning again. Become now the cycle and the meaning, the life and the death, in aeternum, forever and ever."_

At last, he sent a tidal wave to crush them, and their souls were his.

\----------------------

_**Rebirth** _

A dead planet spun erratically off its axis, breaking orbit from its sun, and flung itself into the depths of space. Fragments broke off from the old husk until all that was left was the green orb that had incubated inside. Brilliantly glowing, it shattered into a million gleaming shards, and a living entity full of wings and eyes--the summation of all life that had ever lived on that world-- unfurled from it.

A god was born.


End file.
